Sorak backed away from him, and then his foot struck something behind him and he tripped and fell over Ryana’s prostrate body.
Immediately, Valsavis lunged toward the sound, but he tripped over Ryana as well and went down on top of Sorak.
For a moment, Kara watched anxiously as they struggled on the ground. Then there was a soft, thumping sound, a knife plunged into flesh and someone gave out a wheezing gasp. And silence.
Kara stood, immobile, her breath caught in her throat. Finally, Valsavis moved. Her heart sank for a moment, but then she saw him roll over onto his back and Sorak slowly emerge from beneath the body. Kara expelled her breath in a long sigh of relief and rushed to his side.
Valsavis was still alive, but the knife protruding from his chest gave clear evidence that he would not be for long. Already, his eyes were starting to unfocus. His breaths came in ragged wheezes, and blood frothed on his lips.
“Well fought... elfling,” he said, struggling to get the words out. “I... wouldn’t have... wanted... to live out... my life ... as a ... cripple ... anyway. Sorry about... your sword.”
“It’s just as well,” said Sorak, leaning on Kara for support as he gazed down at him. “I never wanted to be king.”
“You would . . . honor me ... if you . . . took mine.”
“As you wish.”
“Did you ... ever... learn ... your truename?”
“It’s Alaron,” said Sorak.
“Alaron,” Valsavis repeated, his eyes starting to glaze. “Don’t let... the corpses.. . chew ... my bones....”
“I won’t.”
“Thank you . . . uhhh! Damn. . . .” His breath escaped him in a long and rattling sigh, and then he breathed no more.
“Ohhh, my head ...” Ryana said, regaining consciousness.
Sorak turned and crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”
She looked at his bloody face, scared by a deep slash, and her eyes grew wide. “What happened?”
“Valsavis.”
He helped her sit up, and she saw him, lying stretched out on his back.
“Is he... ?”
“Dead,” said Sorak.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said.
Kara turned and went over to where the pieces of the elven sword lay scattered on the floor. She bent down and picked up the largest remaining fragment. It was the silver wire-wrapped hilt, with about a foot of broken blade remaining.
Ryana saw it, and her eyes widened once again. She gasped and turned to look at Sorak questioningly.
“The legend was true,” he said. “Valsavis tried to strike me down with it, but Galdra would not serve a defiler.”
“For generations, it was kept safe,” said Kara. “And now ...” She merely shook her head sadly as she held the broken blade.
“It served its purpose,” Sorak said. “Besides, I have another now.” He picked up the sword that had belonged to Valsavis. “A handsome and well-balanced blade,” he said. “Fine steel, very rare. I will try to put it to better use than he did.”
“Take this, just the same,” said Kara, handing him the broken sword. “Keep it as a symbol of what you have achieved, and what we struggle for.”
Sorak took it from her, holding Valsavis’s handsome sword in one hand and the broken blade in the other. He gazed at it thoughtfully. When it had been whole, there had been a legend engraved on it in elvish. “Strong in spirit, true in temper, forged in faith.” Now, only part of that legend remained.
“Strong in spirit,” he read aloud. He nodded. “A sentiment more true now than it ever was before. I have found my own unique spirit, at long last.”
“Then it will always have deep meaning for you,” Kara said. “Carry it with you, Alaron.”
He glanced up at her, then smiled and said, “My name is Sorak.”